


Let It Snow

by angeljetfire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Christmas Fluff, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester Being an Asshole, M/M, Shipper Sam, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-01 23:43:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2792009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angeljetfire/pseuds/angeljetfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is tired of winter, and snow, and Christmas isn't looking much better, either. That is, until his best friend Castiel insists on coming over to spend Christmas with him. Feelings Dean has suppressed for a long time come to the surface... </p><p>Maybe it will be a magical Christmas after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let It Snow

  

“I hate cold weather. And I never thought I’d say it, but I’m tired of snow, too.” Dean stuck his hands in his pockets, trying to keep them warm as he and his best friend, Castiel, tramped through the snowy vacant lot. It was the shortcut home from high school, and it had snowed so much lately that they had to break a new path every week. Little drifts of snow still managed to slide inside Dean’s boots right now, and it was _cold_.

And—perfect—another storm was due to roll in soon.

“At least it’s almost Christmas. We’ll get two weeks off.”

“Hmph,” Dean grunted. “Two weeks with Dad at home.”

“He hasn’t found work yet?”

“Has he stopped drinking? Nope. His rep has caught up to him.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel said softly.

“Yeah, forget about it. What about you?” Dean glanced at his friend. Cas looked serious, which looked a bit at odds with his knit cap woven out of white and light blue yarn. It had black snowflake patterns stitched into it, and a cheerful, soft round pompom on top. Maybe it wasn’t exactly _cool_. But Cas rocked it. He rocked everything; his jeans, blue and black flannel shirt, and the marginally worn black leather jacket that one of his brothers had handed down to him. It looked good with his dark hair, and made his eyes look even bluer. “Isn’t an avalanche of Miltons gonna roll into your house?”

“Probably.” If possible, Cas sounded even more morose than Dean felt. “Aunt Naomi will pinch my cheeks and Uncle Uriel will play ‘pull the finger.’” He huffed out a frustrated breath. “As if I’m still five.”

“That’s bogus,” Dean agreed. “I’d invite you over, but...”

“Really?” Cas said it so fast, and he sounded so excited and relieved about it that Dean paused.

“What? You mean you’d want to? It’s going to be depressing, man. Dad found our Christmas tree in a dumpster, remember? Half the needles are gone, and the lights don’t work. Sam got all artsy and cut out some construction paper ornaments, but I gotta say it looks pretty lame.”

“Who cares? It’ll be quiet, right? And you’ll have food? I could bring over a pumpkin roll.” Cas’s bright face looked so expectant that Dean just stared for a moment.

“Really?” Why would Cas want to come over to his house on _Christmas,_ of all days? The whole place had gone to pot since Mom had died thirteen years ago. The main light in the living room was a bare bulb, because Dad claimed it was easier to change without the fixture covering it up. “Fancy schmancy” fixture, in his father’s sarcastic words. And the furniture was threadbare and the house cold, since they had pretty much zero money in the bank. Dean worked weekends at the lumber mill, but it didn’t bring in enough.

Dean said, “It’ll be cold, and quiet, and pretty much no fun at all.”

“Quiet,” Cas said happily. “It’ll be perfect, Dean. Can I come? I’ll bring some of Mom’s cheddar and sour cream potatoes, too.”

Dean’s jaw went a little slack at the very idea, and saliva pooled in his mouth. By the tiny quirk at the corner of Cas’s lips, he knew. That hit was below the belt. Cas knew how much Dean loved Mrs. Milton’s famous potatoes.

Dean shrugged. “Okay. We’d be happy to have you. I just don’t want us to ruin your Christmas, Cas.”

He smiled. “You could never ruin my Christmas, Dean.” The quiet, gentle way he said it made something clench hard in Dean’s heart. What had he ever done to deserve such a great friend as Cas? Cas really cared about him, and Dean didn’t know what he’d do without him. Sometimes Cas felt like the anchor in his storm-riddled life.

They arrived at Cas’s two-story house. The old rocking chairs on the wrap around porch were empty. No wonder. Who’d want to freeze their asses off in this cold weather? Four cars were parked on the street out front, which told Dean that Cas’s sister Anna was home from college, as were his brothers Gabe and Michael, and of course Mrs. Milton was probably baking away inside.

Dean’s mouth watered again, imagining the Christmas cookies that were probably cooling on the counter this very minute. He swallowed hard, and tried to control the urge to invite himself inside. He needed to get to work. The lumber mill had given him an extra shift this afternoon. “Okay, maybe you could come over around noon on Christmas Day?”

Cas grinned. “I’ll be there. But first come in for some cookies. You have a few minutes, right?”

Dean always had time for cookies. He ran up the snowy steps after Cas, and stamped his boots outside the door on the bedraggled welcome mat. “Man, have I ever told you, you’re awesome?”

Cas grinned, and shouted inside the house, “We’re home!”

* * *

Christmas Day dawned gray and bleak.

A storm was supposed to hit town that night, and forecasters were already gleefully predicting a blizzard. _Great. More snow,_ Dean thought. The clouds hung low in the leaden sky, which matched the depressed ache in his chest when he looked at their living room. The Christmas tree looked spindly and naked, despite Sam’s paper ornaments and the dead, dull colors of the multi-colored lights draped over it, weighing down the scrawny boughs. Overhead, the living room’s bare bulb cast a harsh light on every piece of junk in the place.

He had to clean this place up for Cas. He had to make it look more cheery.

His father was currently sleeping off another night of boozing it up in his room. Snores drifted down the hall. Sam clattered around in the kitchen, preparing a turkey roll to put in the oven, but it would take two hours to cook. Dean had bought a package of salad and some rolls last night. He couldn’t afford much else. It wouldn’t be much of a Christmas feast.

 _Knock it off,_ he told himself. _It will be a great Christmas._ He’d make it awesome for Sam and for Cas. After all, his friend was giving up Christmas in a warm house with excellent food, just to spend it with Dean. While Dean knew a part of Cas did want to escape the madness that became the Miltons’ house at Christmas, he also knew Cas was coming over today for _him_. To try to brighten up Dean’s Christmas. Dean knew this, because it was just something Cas always did. In fact, it was the quiet little things Cas did, every day, to make Dean’s life happier and brighter, that Dean sometimes just couldn’t stop wondering about. Cas was awesome. Absolutely the best friend he could ever have, and today Dean wanted to make this place shine, and at least put on a show of Christmas cheer for his friend. It was the least Cas deserved.

In a flurry of activity, he cleaned up all the trash in the room, vacuumed the floor, draped a red throw blanket over the back of the ratty couch, and polished the nicked and gouged coffee table. He found a couple of light bulbs in the closet, and changed out the ones in the lamps that had been dead for some time. Dad believed using three lamps was a waste of electricity, when only one overhead light was needed.

Dean switched on the lamps and turned off the harsh overhead light. It already looked better. Softer, and warmer. Now what should he do? He shoved his hands in his pockets, momentarily at a loss. Decorating was definitely not one of his skills. Then he remembered Christmases from long ago. Maybe there was a box of Christmas junk still in the attic.

He discovered there was, under a dusty pair of old drapes. Multiple sneezes later, Dean managed to lug the box downstairs. He’d strung up fake garlands and red bows, and put out a nativity scene and hung a wreath on the door by the time Sam emerged from the kitchen.

His thirteen-year-old brother gaped. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get in the Christmas spirit.”

“For Cas.” Sam shot him a knowing look. Dean wasn’t quite sure how to interpret it.

“For all of us. I want some holly jolly Christmas cheer. I’m sick of the depressed vibe in this house.”

“I’ll help.” Sam set candles on the table, while Dean hung a few real ornaments on the tree. He also found a short strand of Christmas lights, and they actually worked! He hung them on the tree, too. With the Christmas lights lit, the seven small presents under the tree looked cheerful, and full of promise. Everything seemed to glow with Christmas magic. For a second, Dean felt the sweet, bright hope he’d felt in his heart as a child...that something wonderful could happen today, on Christmas; the most magical day of the year.

Sam smiled. “This is awesome, Dean.”

A door slammed down the hall, and Dean flinched. His father was awake. Dean shoved the empty Christmas box in a corner, and Sam melted into the kitchen to “check” on the turkey roll.

The toilet flushed, and heavy footsteps thumped down the hall.  Dean put a determined grin on his face. “Merry Christmas, Dad!”

John’s steps stopped short, and his wide, bloodshot eyes darted wildly about. “What in the _hell..._ ” His face darkened. “Dean, are you responsible for all of this shit?”

“It’s Christmas. Just wanted to brighten up the place.”

“That’s _Mary’s_ stuff.”

“Now it’s our stuff.”

John swore, long and violently. Dean wanted to shut his ears to the vulgar, vicious words. He usually put up a wall in his mind and let his father rage at him, enduring it until John stomped out of the house, but this time a few of John’s words slipped through the cracks. “Don’t want my son to be an effing fairy. _Take down that shit!_ ” he bellowed. “I want it _gone_ when I get back.” He grabbed his denim jacket, and headed for the door.

Dean realized he was shaking. “ _What_ did you call me?” Wild thoughts flooded his mind. How could his father... No. He couldn’t know...and Dean _always_ stopped those thoughts when he realized where they were leading. _No one_ knew...

John turned, and his bloodshot eyes glared at Dean. “You heard me.”

Dean didn’t even know how to respond for a moment, and then the protective wall in his mind exploded. “ _What_ are you talking about? Where the f...”

John just stared at him, and laughed. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“What are you talking about? I’ve dated five girls this year, and...”

John laughed, loudly. “You make me sick. You want to know why I don’t come around much? Why I prefer to hang out in bars, than with my own son?”

“I’m not...”

John just laughed, and stomped out of the house. He slammed the door behind him.

Dean just stared after him, shaking. He felt sick. Furious. And lost.

“It’s okay, Dean.” Sam stood in the kitchen doorway, and his expression was soft and understanding. “Don’t let him upset you.”

“But he...”

“It’s _okay,_ Dean. Forget him. Want some eggnog? I picked up some this morning with my paper route money. I know you like it. Cas, does, too.”

Dean still didn’t move. John’s car squealed away from the curb. It was probably the last they’d see of him today.

The doorbell rang before he had time to adjust to John’s abrupt departure, and Dean swung open the door. Cas grinned at him, his dark hair mussed, as usual. Something inside Dean settled a little, just seeing Cas’s smile. His friend carried a white casserole dish in his arms, and a tinfoil wrapped log lay stacked on top of it. A white plastic bag hung from his fist.

“Cas.” Dean drew an unsteady breath. “Come on in.”

Cas handed the food to Sam, who traipsed into the kitchen with it, and set the grocery bag down on the coffee table. His gaze, now a serious dark blue, held his own. “What’s wrong, Dean?”

“ _Nothing._ ” He said it with force, although his throat felt tight, and the words sounded rough. “My dad’s gone for the day, so Merry Christmas!”

“We have eggnog,” Sam announced, returning in time to break the eye contact that had gone on a little too long between Dean and Cas. “And video games.”

Dean felt Cas’s gaze continue to bore into him, but he ignored it, and flopped down on the ratty couch. They took turns playing two player games until the timer beeped, indicating the turkey was ready.

While they had played the games, Dean had tried his best not to think about John or his innuendos, but it was hard. He rarely felt like he lived up to his father’s expectations, although he tried his damnedest anyway. John’s latest denigrating words had come out of the blue, although verbal abuse and emotional manipulation were his specialties. Where had this latest idea come from? How could John possibly know something Dean had barely even dared to articulate to himself? ...Although it _had_ become harder and harder to ignore lately, and he refused to think about why.

And, yeah. He wasn’t going down that path.

Cas lit the candles while Dean set the table, and then helped Sam carry the food to the table.

It was nice, eating dinner with the two people who meant the most to him in the world. Dean tried to ignore the lead weight of unease in the pit of his stomach, whenever he thought about John returning later that evening. It was wrong to hate someone. Even more so, his father. But this wasn’t the first time he’d wished John would just never come home. Guilt followed that thought, and he felt like a horrible son. What was wrong with him?

What _was_ wrong with him? It was a thought he’d deny if asked, but it was one he asked himself daily. Why couldn’t he ever meet his father’s expectations? He never got enough hours at the lumber mill. Never received all A’s in school, and his room was always a mess...well, true enough. And on and on. And now...

He noticed Sam frowning at him, and so he shoved the unpleasant thoughts to the back of his mind. He forced a smile to his lips and joked, “Hey, the food’s not half bad.”

“Jerk.” But Sam relaxed a little, and smiled.

“Bitch,” Dean said, with a real grin this time.

Cas dished up the pumpkin roll, and Dean savored every bite. In fact, he helped himself to another slice.

After the meal, Sam jumped up and announced, “Cooks don’t clean. I’m going over to see Gabe. We can do presents later.”

“Text me when it’s safe to come home,” Cas said dryly.

“Will do.” Sam disappeared into the deepening dusk.

Dean grumbled a little about cleaning up, but with Cas helping, it was surprisingly quick. Cas was efficient, and washed up the dishes faster than Dean could dry. Afterward, Dean put in the latest Avengers movie in the DVD, and they settled down on the couch, comfortably close together, shoulder to shoulder, as usual.

With Cas’s arm touching his, the last of Dean’s tension from his father’s verbal attack ebbed away. Cas could always calm him down. Cas made him feel right inside, and at ease; like everything would be alright whenever he was with Cas.

The movie played for a long while, but Dean found it hard to concentrate. He didn’t want to, but he kept thinking about John, and it made him angry.

Beside him, Cas murmured, “Do you want to talk about it yet?”

“No. It’s nothing. It’s stupid.”

“It’s about your dad.”

Dean didn’t answer.

“What did he say to hurt you this time?” Cas’s mouth, which usually so freely gave laughs and smiles, looked hard.

Dean didn’t even want to say it out loud.

Cas waited patiently. The credits appeared on the screen, but even though his friend held the controller, he let them roll.

“Well, Dean?” He finally turned to look at Dean, and when Dean also turned his head, Cas suddenly seemed very close. Concern darkened his blue eyes, which looked gentle.

“Oh, man. It’s so stupid.” Dean shook his head. “He’s got it in his head...  I don’t know why. ...But he called me a fairy.”

“You mean like Tinker Bell?” Cas said it in such a deadpan way that Dean burst into laughter.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Like Tinker Bell.”

“I think there are worse things.” A small smile twitched his lips.

“Yeah. It’s just so out of the blue. I don’t get it.” He tried to joke, “Has alcohol pickled his brain? I’ve had five girlfriends this year, and six last.”

“Love ’em and leave ’em.” Cas’s mouth looked a bit tight now, and he looked away, and lay down the controller beside him.

Dean felt he had to justify himself. “They were all nice, you know? Just none of them were the _one._ ”

Cas looked at him again. “Are you looking for the _one_ , Dean?”

For a reason he didn’t want to name, Dean’s heart beat a little faster. “Yeah. I mean, I’m a little young. But yeah, I want to find my soul mate, just like everyone else, I guess.”

“Who does this perfect person look like?”

“I don’t know. Smart. Fun. Someone who gets me. Someone who makes me smile. Someone...I don’t know...that makes me feel _right_ when I’m with them. Like there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. No one else I’d rather be with.”

The intense blue of Cas’s eyes seemed to bore straight into his soul. Softly, he said, “And do you know someone like that?”

Dean’s heart beat faster. He looked down at his lap and ran his suddenly sweating palms over his jeans. All the feelings he’d desperately tried to squash for so long welled up, threatening to overwhelm his mind and his heart, “Yeah, maybe,” he admitted quietly.

“Then what’s stopping you?” Although Cas continued to watch him, Dean found himself unable to turn his head to meet his gaze again. His heart pounded so hard it felt like he was about to have a heart attack.

He licked his lips. “Uh, well.  ...Because...” Still, his mind refused to form the thoughts that his heart already spelled out in bold letters. Had always spelled out in bold, bright letters, from the first day he’d met Cas, when they were kids on the elementary school playground. ...When he’d helped the new boy at school fight off bullies. Those blue eyes had shone with gratitude, and Cas had become his best friend for life from that moment on. And they’d both saved each other’s asses over the years. Cas was smart—smarter than he was—but he could also be scrappy, when necessary.

But this was getting off the subject, which probably was exactly the point. Dean scrubbed his hands over his jeans again. But the back of his throat felt dry, and he realized he really hadn’t escaped the conversation...this moment...at all. “Um, yeah,” he managed. “So, it’s nothing.”

“Is it?”

Something in Cas’s voice made Dean slowly turn his head again, to look at his friend. “What do you mean, Cas?” Dean licked his lips. His heart pounded out of control, like the crazy bass tempo of his favorite song.

“I _mean_ , is there someone, Dean?”

He swallowed. “Maybe?”

“Who?”

Dean felt like he was going to hyperventilate. He was probably reading this all wrong, and was going to lose his best friend forever. He swallowed again, hard. “Uh...you?” he said softly.

Cas stared at him for a second, and Dean felt like he just might implode and collapse into a black hole that sucked his very soul and heart into empty blackness forever.

 _He’d just lost his best friend._ He had to say something to fix things. Now. To salvage this situation. “I...I mean...”

“I know exactly what you mean, Dean.” Softly, he murmured, “Because I feel exactly the same way.”

Dean’s spirits soared, and his heart gave a hard, happy skip. “What, really?”

“Yeah.” Cas looked shy, now, and unsure.

“You mean...?” Dean could barely believe it, and his fingers reached out to touch Cas’s jaw, to stop him from pulling back.

“Yeah,” Cas whispered again.

Dean couldn’t believe this. His best, desperately suppressed dreams were coming true, right this second, and damn, if he wasn’t going to take advantage of this moment. He leaned forward, and Cas leaned forward a little, too, and then their lips met and it was sweetness and wonder, and _Cas_ , and Dean couldn’t believe it. He felt like he was drowning in Cas’s warm kiss. He’d thought just being near Cas, or sitting next to him was wonderful, but this...this was divine. If he was a poet, he might say he heard angels singing.

And suddenly, Dean didn’t care what John said, or what anyone in the world said. He _loved_ Cas. And he had for years. This was the way things were supposed to be.

No doubt in the future others would try to rain on their happiness, but for right now...

The door swung open with a bang. “Guys...” Sam’s voice faltered, and Dean pulled back and quickly glanced at Cas, who looked just as befuddled and struck with bliss and wonder as he was. He glanced over his shoulder.

Sam stared at the two of them. Then he smiled. “About time,” he announced. “A blizzard’s coming. Might want to get home, Cas.”

Dean looked at Cas, and Cas looked at Dean, and they both laughed. Dean said, “Let it snow.”

From now on, they’d endure the cold and the snow and the storms together. Snow would always be beautiful with Cas by his side; when their hearts were warm together with love. Everything would be all right when they were together.

“Let it snow,” he repeated softly, and kissed Cas again, for all the world to see.


End file.
